Monsters in my bed
by Miss-shiva-adler
Summary: Post series Clary finds herself summoning something she shouldn't have. [Eldritch Horror!Magnus Bane x Clary Fray]


**Week 3** Eldritch Horror - Frightened fall fic 2019  
**Tentacletober 2019 #25: **In the bedroom

**Title :** Monsters in my bed  
**Ship:** Magnus Bane/Clary fray  
**Summary :** Post series Clary finds herself summoning something she shouldn't have. [Eldritch Horror! Magnus Bane x Clary Fray]

**Tags**: Demonic summoning, eldritch horror! Magnus Bane, post series! Clary Fray, memory loss, tentacle sex, vaginal sex, anal sex penetrative sex, multiple penetration, Dubious consent, eldritch horror sex, sex dreams, hallucinations, mind and body control, asphyxiation, strangulation, movement restrictions occult, body horror, horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

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_Muscles tense and senses on alert. There was a sword in her hands, or two ? There was a screech. She turned around and saw the creature running toward her. One arrow, two arrows. But it didn't make the creature slow down. It took on more speed. It went faster and faster. She blinked, ready to dodge. Its teeth looked sharp. It lunged. She rolled on the floor, tried to stab it. The growl was immediate and the black thickening blood sprayed on her wrist. She had to let go of her weapon. She didn't have enough strength in her shoulder to take it out. Shit, she would need to get back on her feet as fast as possible if she wanted to best the creature. It snarled. Its jaws dislocated wide and blood dripped everywhere. It prepared to charge her. She steeled herself. _

_There was a gust of wind, someone ran past her. There was a slashing sound and the head removed itself from the creature's shoulders. It sprayed the blo— ichor everywhere. The executor was blond and in disarray. He walked over to her to help her to get back on her feet._

"_Clary ?" his eyes look golden, one had flakes of brown imbedded in it. There was worry in his face. The way he frowned displayed sincere concern. "Are you alright ?" _

_She felt herself take the hand that was offered to her.  
_

When Clary Fray opened her eyes, she doubled back into her seat, almost letting her handbag fall on the floor. She looked around trying to take in her surroundings. It wasn't often she would drift off during a bus ride. Relieved, she slumped back into her seat. Thank god her dream hadn't lasted too long for her to miss her stop. She had woken up right on time. She flexed her hands as if to make sure they were still there and checked her watch. Her nap had lasted for fifteen minutes. Usually her dreams were more restless and she would wake up stressed and on edge. But not right now, it seemed. Her dream had been filled with thrill-seeking and chasing. But this time it hadn't resulted in her being injured or scared.

She glanced outside, catching her reflection in the window. It was starting to be quite dark outside. Her eyes dropped to her neck. Her appointment with her tattoo artist wasn't until a few days and yet she felt the sensation of loss linger heavily again into her mind. She hadn't understood where the need to get black ink on her skin had come from. But the doctor had said that when people woke up from comas, the patients could find themselves craving certain things and developing new interests in hobbies that didn't seem interesting before.

She was certain that before the car accident she wouldn't have wanted to get any tattoos done on her body. Things seemed and felt different now. The designs she had come up with came mostly from instinct. They had all evolved from that one symbol she used to scribble through and through on her sketch pads when she graduated high school. She had been glad when the tattoo shop she had found consisted of artists that welcomed original works. The blackwork on her arms and torso brought a lot of happiness and it looked beautiful as well. It felt less like something was missing.

She bit her lip, checking her messages, there was only the confirmation of the new rendez-vous in the strings of messages. Maybe she should just… ask Tessa out. Last tattoo hadn't lasted long enough for Clary to work up the courage to ask when she would be open for a coffee. She typed in a first draft of a message, then a second, third, fourth… Maybe she'd ask Tessa out next time.

She stood up to exit to her bus stop. Without having anyone else around anymore, juggling two jobs and college was a straining ordeal. At least Catarina had promised rent would be allowed to be late this month. Clary had to miss a deadline yet. But it was nice to know that her landlady had a lot of care for her. Clary had been lucky to found herself such a strong friendship after having lost most of her friends and family. Even if Clary was Catarina's former patient. It was a good feeling to have someone looking after you.

She probably should visit Simon's grave soon.

A gush of wind rose, the coldness of October was just a reminder she would have to make sure she had enough warm clothes to put on. She didn't have a lot left from her life before the accident. There was probably another trip to the thrift store needed. More wind rose and the leaves rustled. She shivered while pulling the coat close to her chest. There weren't a lot people on this side of Brooklyn. More cars and less stores. The streets lights had all lit up but one flickered on.

Clary stopped in her tracks.

Shadows were sometimes a trick of the light or an object that angled in such a way that it projected an image of a human form, sometimes it was even an animal sleeping or a rat moving a bit too closely to the borders of walls. Shadows were not tall shimmering figures that seemed to float a few inches from the floor, unmoving. They were not things that with every blink of an eye seemed to ever so slightly change shape.

She would walk further but it was the feeling of stress that rooted her into place. There were no eyes, nor visible limbs. It didn't have a face. It was a dark black silhouette standing next to that lamppost and it was… watching her, still unmoving. As if it was waiting. She could feel the goosebumps form on her arms. The feeling of something missing came over her. It was as if she _should_ be remembering something. But it wasn't coming.

She took a step forward, ready to call out and ask a question. But she couldn't. The shadow was gone. It left in its wake another cold breeze. The street light then sprung on as if it hadn't been disturbed at all.

Clary shook her head.

Maybe it had been someone after all. It was quite the scary Halloween costume if it had been. And if it wasn't ? Well she had had a couple of sleepless nights and long shift days. It wouldn't have been the first time she was seeing things that weren't supposed to be there. Resolute to at least go to bed early, she decided to be on her way.

She made her way up to the apartments. The old fashioned elevator that would bring her to the second floor seemed to have been repaired. It had broken down after the kids living above her had played around in it. They had been dressed in their Halloween costumes when it happened. Even if they sometimes preferred to run down the stairs and play in the hallway, rather than take the elevator. That time they had chosen differently, an electrical malfunction had sparked and stuck the cabin in between two floors. The shouts and crying had alerted Clary. She had spent an hour talking to the panicked boys who had frantically tried to smash in all the buttons to make it work again. But once Clary had talked to them they seemed to have calmed down. Even called her a hero afterwards, once they had gotten unstuck.

They were out for the holidays now, the kids had been quite enthusiastic to go back to their family. It had made Clary's heart ache. At least she was still welcome to the Lewis' family home since even Luke had disappeared.

She opened the door. Shoes out, bra off. She didn't mind rumpling her café uniform into a ball to put it in the basket. She would do the laundry tomorrow since it was her free day. Tonight was all about leftovers, maybe a movie and going to bed early if she worked through her assignment that was due by next week.

It didn't happen.

Even after having eaten and taken a shower she was staring at her references on her laptop trying to understand how exactly she was supposed to make the composition of abstract art work. Her teacher had challenged her not to use any of her invented symbols anymore and it blocked her. She loved line work, she loved creating those same shapes over and over again. It almost felt like her own language now and it was hard to let it go to do something else. She discarded her sketch pad. It was no use. It had been useless to even try tonight. Her mind was too preoccupied, too inspired for other things than her assignment. Something she really wanted to work on instead. She laid down on her bed to stare up at the drawing she had made there.

It was a mix of charcoal and oil chalks. The colors had mixed to give various shades of green and red, but it was mostly black. The center was the face of a man with empty cavities instead of eyes and snakes instead of hair. Its wide open mouth birthed a pentacle with a slitted eye in its midst. All around were symbols, but none that Clary had drawn before. They didn't seem to have a real sense of direction and every symbol seemed to have its own flow.

The base was an inverted pentagram. The more Clary had thought of it, the more she dreamed about it. It was a source of inspiration and the rest came into place as she drew it. At first the drawing didn't want to take root in the wood. She had found herself continuously reapplying the layers because the colors would seep away into the ceiling of her four poster bed. So she restarted either in the morning before going to college or at night before she went to bed.

It had only been a few days now that the drawing seemed to stay visible and its color just as vivacious as the day before. She had never tried to take pictures of it because it never looked quite finished. It didn't feel finished and as long as it wasn't finished she couldn't really leave it be. There was a pull to it, something that made her feel the need to bring the drawing to completion. It would keep her up at night staring at it. It had to be exact, correct. Even if Clary knew she liked to have some messy drawings this one… this one had to be done _right_. Every curve, every line, had a meaning, a purpose.

And she didn't know why.

And there was something missing to it. No matter what it was or the amount of chalk she would reapply there was nothing that did it. It frustrated her so she stared at it. For a long time.

A very long time.

Until she cocked her head to the side. In a flurry of movement she sat up grabbed her pencil on her nightstand. She was scratching on the drawing's forehead before she knew it. It dug into the wood, making a horrible sound as if nails scraped over it. She frantically seemed to be needing to scratch the letter down. Even the splintering didn't make her stop. The pencil broke in her hand and her skin broke.

She swore as she was suddenly torn away from her trance. She hated when the inspiration would get the better of her. There was some wood lodged in her finger, deep enough for it to hurt and bleed. She gritted through her teeth. That had been… completely reckless. She glanced up.

The scratched out 'M' was exactly what had been needed. And Clary didn't know what to feel about it. There wasn't relief nor happiness. There was nothing. She had hoped it would at least bring her this sensation of 'completion' but there was nothing. She inhaled and exhaled. There was disappointment at the anti-climax the situation. Maybe she was indeed too tired, maybe she was just too worried or even burnt out. She had been working on this for months now. This sucked. Maybe it would be better in the morning, once there was good and better light so she could take pictures and share it on social media. There could be a nice visual novel idea behind it. She would have to see.

Clary walked off her bed to take care of her finger. The antiseptic stung but it was just a small wound. It would probably stop bleeding in a few minutes, maybe an hour. Once she glanced at the clock on her nightstand she let out a sigh. It was already past 1a.m. She probably should already be in bed, sleeping. Her body was almost begging her to do so as well. She suddenly felt the headache she hadn't been aware off before. Her body then felt like gravity was dragging her to the floor. She stumbled. It had been a while since she had been so sleepy, so tired.

She shut the lights and got into bed before letting sleep take her over. It didn't last very long, however. Not even an hour later she heard something. It made her eyes snap open. '3am' was glowing red on her clock. But that wasn't where the noise was coming from. She closed her eyes and turned on her back. She wasn't certain if she wanted to stare at whatever was making the noise above her. Her finger throbbed. The noise was wet, as if something slick was moving around. There was also the sound of suction.

And breathing.

She opened her eyes as fear gripped at her gut.

Hidden amidst the wood, two glowing fat yellow eyes were looking down at her. A face, the face of a man, young but older than her, drew itself from the mass of abyssal fumes. It moved, it loomed. But as it smiled it seemed like the mouth appeared somewhere else. The face was frozen, blank as if it wasn't even made of flesh. More like porcelain, or was it snow ? She couldn't distinguish. It was so dark in her room. But it wasn't because of the lack of light nor because they were a winter's month. It was the darkness had been created. It wasn't natural. When she blinked she wasn't sure it was even there. Her whole body locked, her blood ran cold in her veins and her fingers grasped at the sheets. Wide eyed, she stared at the _thing_ above her.

The elongated pupils were like slits. She sucked in a breath. There was more. More than the one pair of eyes. She was staring at all of them but yet there seemed to be just the two. But there were more: on every limb, on every tendril, on every part of her bed, in between her sheets. She could see them, feel them. Some were big, others bigger. Most blinked and disappeared, others looked everywhere as if they were looking around her room. The two others… the one belonging to the human face stayed, never straying from her face, they didn't blink. They were looking at her, past her, inside of her.

She couldn't move.

The face then approached. The black masses that were attached to it expanded, stretched, and it was as if a long neck appeared. She felt her stomach jolt in surprise but she couldn't cower away.

A tendril wrapped itself around her neck and squeezed. But when her hands grabbed it to prevent it from doing that, her hands met nothing. Her hand went right through it and there was nothing. It suffocated. She could feel the weight but yet again her hand grabbed nothing. There was nothing. She was patting her throat to get it off but she couldn't. _Because there was nothing there._

She didn't feel like she could shout or scream. Her mind and body were tense. But at the same time it was as if she was limp and relaxed. It was as if her mind couldn't fight and she wasn't even sure she wanted to.

The darkness enclosed her. It twisted around her ankles, her thighs, the tentacle was sticky and when she grabbed it, it was massive and strong like a muscle. She felt her T-shirt twist as it slithered itself under it. She gasped. Its temperature either felt icy cold on her thighs or scorching hot on her chest. She could decide to either shy away or to lean into the foreign sensation. It was nothing like she had ever felt before. She didn't understand how it was possible to have those two sensations at once. Because it was seeping into her body, from her skin to her bones.

She was quickly enveloped in darkness when the weight of it knocked the air out of her lungs. She tried to hold up her arms to keep the mass from pouring all over her but it was straining. But the sensation it- _licked_ her hands and spread to her shoulders. She realized she didn't want to fight, she couldn't fight. Whether it was because of her curiosity or her fear, she would never know.

She stretched out her fingers so she could touch whatever the mass was on top her. It felt familiar. The back muscles felt human, so did the hips. But it wasn't what she was _seeing_. She stared at the blank face in front of her. It looked more alive and but it still stared her shut. The yellow eyes never left her. She felt lips upon her mouth before she saw the face coming down on her.

The muffled moan couldn't be kept from escaping her lips. A tongue sneaked its way into her mouth. She had kissed boys, girls, people… This felt nothing like it. It was everywhere, it squirmed and yet touched every spot. It made her whole head go into shutdown. The tendrils moved, caressed, touched, crawled their way past her clothing. She blinked rapidly. It didn't take long for the tendrils to find the most sensitive spots and corners. Her whole body was suddenly alight with the fires of arousal.

She wasn't sure about the intrusion. She wasn't until she felt it. Not sure if it was a cock or a tentacle; if it was just one or more. She let her mouth fall open as the tendril around her neck reinforced itself. Her clit was hard, sucked on. She couldn't keep back a whimper. It kept on sheathing itself inside of her, stretching her. Fuck. _Fuck._ It felt… good.

The embarrassment seeped into her mind and she closed her eyes as she felt her cheeks burn. She let her hands wander. It felt like sticking her hands into some sort of goo. But yet again, what she was caressing felt like a solid body. Her first thought was a body of a man, taller, more muscled than her. But it was disproportionate, it would shift. Become something else; Sometimes hard, sometimes soft.

The tentacles around her thighs reinforced themselves and Clary couldn't keep away another moan.

The first trust came after another squeeze on her throat. She became light-headed. She became completely uncertain if there had even been a thrust. There was kissing on her lips and the gleam of ornate ears and the reflection of yellow eyes stared back at her. She didn't know whether it was the tentacles or herself that pushed her legs open even more.

Because they _filled_ her.

It brought tears to her eyes. Because it felt good; it felt really good; and odd; and overwhelming. She felt her throat constrict to a moan as once again the tentacle seemed to explore inside of her, brush her spot; had a sucker on her bundle of nerves. Another one made its way between her buttocks. She felt herself shudder as another tentacle prodded at her rim. She felt her eyes roll back in her head at the slick intrusion. She muffled another moan around the intrusive long tongue in her mouth.

There were definitively tears now. Because she couldn't… _compute…_ it was a lot. It was so much. And they hadn't even really moved yet. But then they did. She shot out with her nails. Her mind was swimming, desperately trying to find a way to ground herself. But her fingers didn't find any flesh or elasticity of skin to scratch at. It felt like a block of ice under her fingers while the mass on top of her was burning hot. She felt the long elongated hands circle her shoulders. It buried her against her mattress. But she couldn't see, only feel. It felt like the body of a human but yet it didn't move like one. The arms seemed to sometimes become long and out of proportion, sometimes it was as if they were nonexistent.

She let another whimper. The pleasure coiling, building up. Her arousal was hot as she was sinking away to a more neutral place in her head. One where her body was high strung and only release would be able to be found. She would need more to even get there.

Tentacles moved in and out of her: Sometimes they came back bigger inside than when they left her. Sometimes they were even stickier and sometimes rimmed or ridged. It wasn't logical. It wasn't normal. It wasn't coherent. There was no rhythm, no predefined way of thrusting. It was as if _it _wasn't even trying to find any release. And yet she felt it burn in her veins. The tendril around her neck squeezed and released her throat and she let out a groan every time the thrust was harder. She couldn't push her hips back even if she wanted to. She couldn't move and she felt how the sheets under her started to soak with perspiration. She felt herself shudder. Because she liked it. Because she felt absolutely debauched for liking it. Even if it scared her, even if it terrified her. Her mind didn't seem to be able to follow.

Especially when they brushed against all the right places inside of her or when they forcefully pushed her back into that mattress. She knew the dampness between her thighs wasn't just the slickness of the tentacles inside of her. She felt so used and open. Especially when the stretch was exactly right. She felt more and more how her body was shuddering under every thrust, every movement, every swipe of tongue. She was lost in a feedback loop of pleasure and pain as the tendril every so often squeezed her neck. Her eyes were closed when she thought she'd reached orgasm. The moan couldn't escape her throat. The body rutting against_— in_ her just kept on going, and going, and going.

Her whole body was lost and oversensitive by the third orgasm she reached. It never stopped feeling odd or good. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she felt like smoke was filling her lungs and stomach. She felt like the tongue was forcing her mouth to open even more. She couldn't breathe. She scratched at the skin of the human form that wasn't a human form. She felt the skin tear. She tugged at the dark hair to make it stop but it didn't. It just didn't. And the tendril around her neck squeezed. She wondered if her neck was going to snap. Fear gripped at her. Her heart pounded in her temples. Her body was going rigid. Tears became real tears of anguish. She felt herself sink deeper and deeper. She wondered if she would see her mother on the other side before darkness would take her over.

Clary Fray shot her eyes open.

It wasn't often she would fall asleep on the bus. It had been quite the long shift week at work. College was a hard thing to catch up on when you were juggling two jobs and needed to pay rent. At least Catarina wasn't a landlady with draconian measures when it came to paying things on time. She considered to plan for a shopping trip at the thrift store because she needed new clothes. Maybe she would even ask the girl of the tattoo shop out tonight, if she was brave enough.

It was a cold month of October and Clary Fray was walking home.

The end


End file.
